Time to Spare
by deadlyincantations
Summary: Hermione was having a day. A horrible, absolutely tragic, not-at-all-on-schedule, poorly thought out, very bad day. Little does she know, her day is about to get so much more complicated in more ways than one. SSHG Romance, Time Fic, AU
1. Grumpy Beginnings

I waited though wanting nothing,

then waited longer.

As if by that I might

become again

the carved and painted lure—

Its two iridescent eyes that stay always open,

its stippled gold sides, deep-orange back,

red threads attached at the gills.

I hummed with its three-pronged shine

of fish who are sweet and fat to the birds above them.

I hummed with its three injured notes to the fish below.

To all the blue-winged, handless distances

and all my blue-finned, handless lives,

I hummed

in borrowed Swedish and the iron-hiding slip of gleam—

 _The great strangeness still may come, even for you._

 _-Lure, Jane Hirshfield_

Crookshanks, for all his qualities, was a rather nasty bit of work. Much to the complaints of his treasured owner, he napped in the same spot of sunlight on the highest beam of the apartment all day. Although he heard her scold him for his laziness, he couldn't be bothered to care much, since his kibble always occupied his bowl and there was always a hand waiting to pet him. He liked his spot for the obvious reasons; it was warm, high enough to irritate Hermione, and made him feel much larger than when he was on the floor. The largest reason, however, was the view. Horizontal from that highest arc of wood was a large window, allowing the half-kneazle to easily watch his beloved mistress travel to and from their home to the apothecary where she worked. He wasn't sure who she fraternized with while she abandoned him to lick off all his furballs and leave them as haphazard little gifts along the floor, but she always returned smelling slightly off.

He didn't like it. Not a bit.

To remedy this, Crookshanks decided the easiest course of prevention was to simply keep her at home. He'd dart out at the most inopportune of moments, snatching and clawing at her woolen socks at she stumbled out of the way so as to avoid trampling her beloved pest.

"Crooks," she scowled, hair catching quite brilliantly in the early morning sun, "I'll ward you out of the hallway if you don't quit. Merlin, I swear I will if you make me late one more time. I'm already running behind schedule. Professor Snape will have my head if I spoil the Felix Felicis variant one more time. It's costing more galleons than he's paying me at this point!"

The cat, being only a cat and none too concerned with the carrying ons of humans, merely meowed and settled over her shoes as she hunted around for the last parchment of notes that no matter how many _accios_ Hermione casted, refused to reveal itself.

His owner had changed quite a bit since she plucked him from Diagon Alley some years ago. No longer was he able to cover the entirety of her legs with his fluffy form, easily batting at her toes while kneading her stomach. Her hair, which before easily resembled his own marvelously outrageous coat, finally had morphed into a smooth cascade of curls that he very much liked to capture in between his paws while she read one of her large, musty tomes. Equally, her voice had become less shrill, a welcome change to her familiar's ears. It now reverberated through the walls and floorboards of their home in a soothing cadence that was at once calming to him. He found he missed it when silence occupied its place.

But the one thing, the absolute one thing he utterly detested about this matured Hermione, was her absence from sunrise into the dark hours of the night. He was her familiar, not just a mere pet, and thus required quite a bit more attention than whomever else she was devoted her time to so ardently. At least from his perspective, this was a gospel truth.

So as she scrambled around, overturning chairs and rugs, even dumping her treasured books in a heap on the couch to more thoroughly search the floor, Crookshanks couldn't for one second feel a bit of remorse that he had hidden that vindictive piece of parchment in the gutter outside their apartment.

* * *

Hermione was having a day. A horrible, absolutely tragic, not-at-all-on-schedule, poorly thought out, very bad day. It was in fact, a new low for her. The press was having a field day over Harry and Ron's unearthing of a rather unsavory coven of dark magic practitioners in Russia, and Hermione was left in hazy London, without so much as an owl from her friends, her only information on their accomplishments from Rita Skeeter's various columns mucking up _The Daily Prophet_. She wouldn't have been too terribly peeved about all this, used as she was to their absent mindedness, however upon discovering that that particular coven had been harvesting an extremely rare strain of pomegranates, invaluable to a potioneers stock, had been collected and donated to the ministry rather than Professor Snape's apothecary, she was at the very least, resentful.

Oh, this wasn't even the first time they had performed such a stunt. Just three months ago, an entire five pounds of moon shells had been seized from and cave off the shore of South Africa after arresting its senile cultivator for an entirely separate issue. The aurors, not much caring for Class X ingredients, told the boys to find a dark corner to tuck it in, or turn it into the ministry for some use or the other. The boys agreeably dropped it off at the Ministry of Magic before dropping by Hermione's apartment to relay the entire story. When they told her about the moon shells, she went into such a deep shock she dropped her pan of spaghetti noodles she had been transferring from the sink to the pan.

"Do you have _any_ inkling of how precious moon shells are!? They're practically extinct and you came across five pounds of the stuff and didn't even think to ask if I'd want it?" She shrieked, angry blotches coloring her cheekbones as she wrung her hands.

She didn't speak to them for a week after that particular incident.

Before that it was a vat of spineless coral mucus, and before _that_ it was a basket of fertilized fire lilies, and the five encounters before those two made the list of grievances entirely too long to be understandable. Not only were those ingredients worth thousands of galleons, the look on Professor Snape's face when she dropped them off in the lab would have been worth the haggling with the Ministry if they'd allowed her to get her hands on them _post tempus_.

Needless to say, this new turn of events was grating on her. It was grating on her enough that she managed to misplace one of her arithmetic equations that just might be the key to an entirely new version of felix felicis. It was quite an astounding piece of work on her part, and had cost a pretty galleon to get as far as she had. Without her Professor, she might still be swamped in the theoretical stages and never even see her potion hit the cauldron. She was unwaveringly grateful for his tutelage and was not about to disappoint him at this stage in the game. She knew it was hard enough for him to allow her access to his ingredients and knowledge, but to proactively assist her in her own endeavors was a treasure she held close in her regard for him. It was a remarkable transformation from when they first began their journey of master and apprentice.

With the initial problem of Voldemort eliminated, the post battle scene had segued into a humdrum of relieve and frenzy. People had rushed about identifying injured and deceased, in between frantic embraces and tears of release that the great burden wizarding Britain had shouldered had finally come to pass. Hermione herself was assisting Madam Pomfrey in the Infirmary with countless bottles of dittany when Luna and Ginny flung open the oak doors and screeched about Professor Snape in the Shrieking Shack.

"Oh, cripes. Sweet Merlin I think he's still alive," Ginny shrieked, flinging back bed curtains in search of Hermione. "She's behind the last one, I believe. The nargles are hovering especially strong in that corner," Luna suggested, tugging back the curtain as Ginny continued her usurpation of every hospital bed.

"HERMIONE! Oh Cerce, Zeus and all the old gods, we are idiots of the first order," Ginny was practically running in circles, past the point of reason.

"Ginny. Ginny. Oh for heaven's sake, GINNY!" Hermione struggled to yell over Ginny's panic, "What's happened, hurry up and tell me, now!"

Ginny rushed right into Hermione's face, her mahogany eyes boring straight into Hermione, "We were looking for extra supplies in Professor Dumbledore's office. Everything was so cluttered in there we could hardly find anything we needed. Dumbledore's portrait started suggesting where things might be located and when I looked up to thank him, I noticed that Professor Snape's portrait was still blank!"

Hermione's eyes dilated and her bottle of dittany shattered upon its impact with the infirmary's floor. She immediately flew into action.

"Luna, grab that satchel over there. Ginny, levitate that stretcher and send a patronus to McGonagall. Hurry!" The other two witches rushed about as Hermione began hollering for Madam Pomfrey before practically teleporting out the door.

The rest had been history, they had managed to successfully stabilize Professor Snape until Professor McGonagall and Pomfrey arrived with healers to transfer the rapidly depleting man to St. Mungo's. The whole scene was a blur to Hermione, she was so caught up in desperately trying to save him she hardly had the energy to commit the details to memory. The only thing she remembered with absolute clarity was brushing a thick strand of his blood saturated hair out of his pallid face before lowering her mouth to his to administer muggle CPR. It was the only thing she could think to do after the conventional magic alternatives had failed. The other thing she remembered was passing his room at St. Mungo's, and promptly having a flower pot chucked at her head as he began to bellow about life debts and James Potter and his eternal bane of servitude to despicable human beings categorized as heros. It wasn't until later that night, Crookshanks thick mane under her heavy palm as she lay awake in bed that she finally put the pieces together.

"Godric Gryffindor on a stake, I've trapped him in a life debt!" She had gasped quietly into the heavy night air, at once allowing the implications of that to settle into her speeding thoughts.

It must've been the CPR that did it. Breathing literal life into another had serious magical complications she had been too frantic to consider in the moment. Looking back, she still would've done it. She regretted only that the life debt reminded him so much of the one he had just recently payed off to James Potter.

She had visited him the next day, pleased that she had not only worked out an agreeable solution, but also thought to remove any other throwable objects from the brooding Professor's grasp.

"Sir, you know very well I didn't mean to enter into a life debt with you."

He turned away from her, his greasy hair curtaining the majority of his scowling face. "You should have just _let me die_. I never asked your miserable lot to haul yourself and half the castle all the way back to that god forsaken shack and drag me back from my grave." He grounded out, his jaw visibly working even behind his hair.

"Professor, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I regret nothing. I'd do it again if it came down to it. Besides offing yourself, there's no way to fix your situation now and I'm prepared to offer you with an easy commitment that will render the debt annulled." She swallowed, relieved she got the whole shpiel out of the way in one go. She'd practiced for hours before she came here, and was happy her voice hadn't wavered nearly as much as she'd predicted.

He turned, his dark ebony irises locked on her petite form, and she felt herself visibly shudder under his glare. She knew suggesting a debt payment right from the get go was a gamble, but seeing as he hadn't gathered the strength to immediately hex her, she thought the whole transaction was going remarkably well. A hollow silence stretched between the pair for a minute, an hour, a day. She didn't know how exactly long his eyes bore into hers, she was only aware of the hot drops of perspiration dripping down her neck as she prepared herself to deal out the proposition.

"Sir, I- I'd like to keep this between us. It's nobody else's business how you came to be alive and they should consider themselves lucky to have you here," she sighed, rubbing absently at her damp neck, feeling his eyes practically set her on fire with their angry heat. "I know I haven't completed my Seventh year of Hogwarts, and I know you'll be recovering for quite some time. But all the same, I'd-" Hermione felt her stomach practically bottom out as she forced the words from her mouth, "I'dliketobeyourapprenticeandlearnpotionsfromyou."

She winced, and waited for his response. He merely sat under his white bedsheet, arms crossed and looking for all the world like unearthly Hades on bed rest. Professor Snape's silence continued, simply content, apparently, to study her from across the room. His mouth puckered and his brow creased, deft fingers flitted up to stroke lightly over his two-day scruff as he appeared to weigh the pros and cons of her request. Hermione bit her lip and tucked a frizzy strand of hair behind her ear, twisting her shirt in her hands and trying not to look as nervous as she felt. How is he so easily able to unnerve her, even from a hospital bed?

"I mean, of course it would be on your terms. I would never presume… I would never encroach upon… I, well, I would consider the debt repaid after I achieve my Mastery with your leadership and I would be happy to draft a-"

"Miss Granger, please, do shut up for a moment." He said, without a trace of a sneer, to her surprise. "Bring me that pad of parchment," he said quietly, his face firmly set in such a way that he appeared to be preparing to go through something most unpleasant. She scrambled to retrieve the paper from the stand and hurried to his side, her fingers brushing briefly over his clammy ones as she struggled not to resume her babbling. Reaching into her bottomless bag before he could ask, she plucked a black quill from its depths and handed that over as well.

"Quick-Quotes Quill," she said, her voice shriveled into a whisper in light of his decision. His face remained passive as he took that, too, from her trembling hand. Her heart raced in her chest as he began to dictate the rules and conditions for her apprenticeship. To start in the summer following her seventh and final year of Hogwarts, she would learn all, witness all, and obey all that he ordained to her, and she would willingly submit to his authority until her Mastery was obtained. The details were drafted, the binding spell glowing golden over his spidery scrawl before he brandished a small hand-blade from under his pillow, cutting a small incision in the tender flesh of his elbow before instructing Hermione to do the same.

"Do as I say," He commanded, his voice lowering to something harsh and low as he wrapped his arm from hand to forearm around hers.

"If you'd be so kind as to drop any Occlumency shields," he rasped, tugging her form closer to his to smear their blood between them. She shook like a leaf, barely registering what he said and then hastening to do as instructed. Their eyes locked, and she was aware of his magic throbbing around them, crashing over her own and willing it to submit to him.

"Repeat after me." He whispered, the room around them darkening as golden ropes of light wrapped around their hands.

" _You cannot posses me, for I belong to myself_ ," he began, pausing until she shakily repeated him before continuing on.

" _But while we both wish it, I give you what is mine to give._

 _You cannot control me, for I am a free person,_

 _But I shall serve you in the ways a Master requires,_

 _And the knowledge will taste sweeter coming from your hand._

 _I pledge to you that yours will be the name I answer to under this vow,_

 _And the eyes into which I cannot desist._

 _I pledge to you the first drops of my success,_

 _And the first drink of my glory,_

 _I pledge to you my magic and mind, equally in your care,_

 _And tell no outsider our grievances._

 _This is my apprenticeship vow to you._

 _This is a bond of equals."_

Their bodies shuddered as the weight of the ancient magic settled over them, a mantle of responsibility and trust suddenly thrust upon apprentice and master as the contract sealed itself and promptly burst into flames.

Professor Snape sighed, abandoning her hand and letting their wounds stickily peel apart. He didn't bother to cast a cleansing charm, simply muttering "Leave me. Now." before rolling away from her and burying his dark profile into the down pillows. Hermione stood at his bedside, still entranced by one of the most spectacular forms of magic she'd witnessed in her young life, before gathering her quill and whispering a quiet "Of course, Master," before scuttling out of his room.

From that day, Hermione resolved to work harder than she had in any of her studies before to prepare and perform for her Master. She was determined to never once make him feel regretful of his easy agreement, or to remind him of his debt to her.

The lost opportunity to gain such priceless ingredients from Harry and Ron for Professor Snape, combined with the up and coming missing arithmetic equations was enough of a boon to cause poor Hermione Granger to descend into a fit of panic as she continued to rush about her small apartment, her long held fears of disappointing her Professor rearing their ugly head.

She still hadn't found that stupid parchment paper, and now her meddlesome cat was making a point for groom himself over her dragonhide boots, probably knowing full well that kneazle hair was completely corrosive to almost any potion. She groaned, at a loss for what to do, and twenty minutes behind schedule, grabbed her spare pair from the closet before sprinting out the door, down the stairs, and around the corner to apparate out of sight to her Master's elusive lab.

 **Hermione's apprenticeship vows are a modification of Celtic marriage vows. I do not own anything here that belongs to the Harry Potter World, not even the beloved half-cat-half-kneazle on a warpath to dissuade his owner.**


	2. Tea Times Three

_Time is_

 _Too Slow for those who Wait,_

 _Too Swift for those who Fear,_

 _Too Long for those who Grieve,_

 _Too Short for those who Rejoice;_

 _But for those who Love,_

 _Time is not._

 _Henry Van Dyke_

Hermione arrived at the Potion Master's withering doorway with a resounding crack, hustling inside and shutting the door as silently as she could. The outside of the apothecary was unremarkable, as it should be with the amount of wards coating the property like a thick honeyed glaze. She felt them ripple down her spine as soon as she stepped off the sidewalk and through the gate. Overgrown vines and discolored brick decorated the face of the three story building, sandwiched snugly between an antique store and a herbal supplement shop. It was a nice spot, a little hidey-hole where she and her master could easily tuck themselves away while they spent their days and nights creating the tallest orders for the highest profiles. Hermione tiptoed across the onyx floor toward the coat hanger, already formulating some sort of excuse to deliver to her Master as to why she was so late today. She knew she was going to get wrung out to dry either way, it was only a matter of softening the blow. She unbuckled her traveling cloak and groaned inwardly at the site of Professor Snape's gargantuan garment already sagging on its respective peg. Hanging her cloak, she moved her satchel off her person and cradled it on her arms, turning and preparing to face down a very irritated Professor Snape. She started to move when a deep voice cleared its throat behind her.

Hermione spun around and paled at seeing her master leaning near the door under a flaming torch, looking very irritated indeed.

"Miss Granger, imagine seeing you here at such an early hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He rumbled, his voice like silk and steel. Professor Snape's face was contorted into a pasty sneer that made her heart drop into her intestines. It was a rather an uncomfortable juxtaposition; his voice so soothing and deadly calm, but his face painted in rankling displeasure.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something apologetic, but all that she could managed was a rather discomfiting squeak as she shrunk under his piercing glare.

"You are late. Again. You will explain this juvenile misstep immediately." He hissed, stalking out of the shadows and toward her.

Embarrassment colored her cheeks as she scrambled inwardly to come up with some semblance of an apology. She knew she had it coming, this was the third time this month she'd been late, and after promising profusely and practically castrating herself before her unamused master last week, she knew she was treading on thin ice.

His heavy footsteps continued to bear down on her, his arms folded tightly behind his back as he moved with the precise grace of a man unaccustomed to mistakes. She tensed as he stopped directly in front of her.

"Yes, sir. I know I'm late… again. It's been, well, rather a hectic month to be perfectly honest. My cat has been making an absolute mess of my apartment, which is so unlike him I can't figure out for the life of me what has got him to riled up. My arithmancy equations have gone amiss, and he chewed up my ladle yesterday, and the last night he ate an entire jar of frog legs I had laying around. Then, I read Rita Skeeter's column on _The Daily Prophet_ this morning and to my surprise I found that-" she began to go off on a tangent, babbling as she tended to do when she get nervous.

"I suggest, Miss Granger, that you quickly get to the point and give a legitimate reason for why you are late for the third time in such a busy month," he hissed, a vein over his temple throbbing visibly.

Hermione's tongue felt thick in her mouth as panic well and truly descended onto her. She couldn't lie, her bond to her master held her at too high a standard for her to slip so much as a white lie past him. It was a difficult situation to be in: perfect Hermione Granger, never a toe out of line, showing up to one of the most important occupations she'd held in her short life with not even a slip of an excuse. She lowered her gaze to the floor and watched Professor Snape's large frame reflect brilliantly off the glossy black floor, blending so seamlessly in color that it was difficult to discern where the man ended and the reflection began. His eyes continued to watch her unwaveringly, the rigidity of his restrained anger rolling off him in waves. Hermione sighed, and prepared herself to a day of scrubbing cauldrons rather than whatever exciting work he had planned for the two of them.

"Professor," her voice was a low whisper as she forced her eyes to level at his, white knuckling the straps of her bag as she forced the blush on her cheeks to remain at a minimum. "I really… I'm afraid I have no reason at all for failing you so much this month." He remained quiet, but she did not escape seeing one dark eyebrow raise as he crossed his arms, tapping his foot as she continued to flounder through her apology.

She let her eyes wander to one of the lit torches closest to them, watching the flames dance and set a gentle glow on the brick wall behind it. It would be easier if she wasn't looking at him the entire time. She was used to being on the receiving end of disappointment, and was at a loss at how to continue now that the shoe was on the other foot.

"My cat was his usual pesky self, save for a few new messes. My friends were their usual pesky selves, if you could believe it. Rita Skeeter was her usual pesky self, and loves to continue to rub her distaste for me in her nasty little heroics column." A ripple of irritation colored her last point, and she knew that she could elaborate now without it being classified as babbling. Her lips curled into a sneer similar to Professor Snape's as she quoted Skeeter's most recent column;

"' _Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley continue to save the Wizarding World at large as they battle foes near and far across Europe and Asia in the first ever Continental Auror Squad, bringing priceless potion ingredients home to the ever gratuitous Ministry of Magic. Vita Portantes Pomegranate seeds were seized alongside an insidious coven of undead wizards and witches in the treacherous tundras of Russia. Hermione Granger continues to maintain her mellow presence in London, the spotlight has waned over this particular witch for now. More room for the fantastic Weasley and Potter duo!'"_

Even hours after reading the column, her blood still boiled as Skeeter's simpering voice taunted her through the newspaper.

She fumed silently, eyes firmly fixed on the flame's soft orange glow as she stewed over that abysmal article and waited on her professor to scold her for her hypersensitivity and dump a box of rusty cauldrons in her lap to be scrubbed. He had changed since they began her apprenticeship. They say time heals all wounds, but Hermione suspected some of his injuries were too deep to truly be repaired, and if they did it was certain some scarring would occur. Even so, she could tell he was happier than he was, able to immerse himself in his work with only one pupil to guide, even as minimally as he did. Most days he sat some obscenely dry and large textbook in her lap to learn more potions theory. Those days were horribly dull, and she often questioned her sanity even as she dutifully took notes he never collected before carefully tucking it back into its home on one of his many, many shelves.

Those were most of her days with him, but there were a select few days, more recent than later, that he allowed her to sit on a rickety stool across one of the lab tables and assisted him with his more complicated orders. Those were the days that she lived for, that reminded her of why she settled on this as career after Hogwarts, why she consciously agreed to spend all of her time with someone who had rebuked her every advance as an adolescent. Those days, his years as a spy never showed. Those deep lines of stress and darkness receded alongside his heavy presence until he was just a man with a cauldron, his voice soft and low as he described every step, asking her why he was doing _this_ and not _that,_ and allowing her to stir in the next ingredient when she gave a particularly insightful answer.

Those days were popping up more frequently. However with this fresh mistake, Hermione was sure she had destroyed any goodwill she had managed to establish with him. The thought ate away at her, but it seemed like no matter how hard she tried these days to keep everything straight it fell apart anyways just to spite her.

The torch's flame shuddered under her bitter glare, a few flakes of glowing debris fluttering towards the inky floor then winking out. She couldn't imagine what her master must think of her, pouting like a child, weak excuses waiting to be undermined with even just a cutting sentence from him. She waited for him to make a blow about Harry and Ron, a snide comment about their escapades or an opinion on her comparison against them in the paper. She waited and held her breath, getting exponentially more upset about the entire situation.

She nearly fell out of her boots when a low chuckle broke the lobby's oppressive quiet. Hermione's gaze immediately snapped back to her master's as a smirk ghosted his features, smoothing out the shallow lines of his forehead and brow, his head cocked in amusement as he watched her silently break down.

"Skeeter's been a perpetual thorn in the side of anyone worth their stack of stones, I am grieved to inform you," He commented, "have you ever read past the weather predictions to see the two-pence she manages to slip into the back of every issue about whatever dirt she can dredge up about me?" Hermione gawked at him, shocked he'd offer up any consolation to her, however small the gesture was. She still couldn't believe he had laughed. She'd _never_ heard him laugh before, even at her small attempts at wit while in the lab. She'd just assumed that a sense of humor was something he was just born without, even if his sarcasm did make the corner of her lips twitch from time to time.

Professor Snape drew his wand, barely flexing his wrist before a crackling fire lit itself in the drawing room a few doors down from their current position. Nodding in satisfaction, he twitched his wand again and Hermione felt her satchel being ripped from her hands and settling itself next to her cloak. The wand vanished into his many yards of dark fabric and Professor Snape swept past her, cooly instructing over his shoulder, "I won't be kept waiting any longer, we have much more important things to accomplish today than idle discussion,".

Hermione stared at the receding figure of her master as he vanished around the corner, wondering just what she had said in her apology -if you could call it that- that her master saw as a reasonable excuse for her tardiness. The reasoning was utterly lost on her, and she knew the situation would come back to bite her in the arse before the day was over. Professor Snape would exact his punishment on her one way or the other, it was only a matter of time. What's more, he had actually _laughed_ at her relay of Skeeter's article, before letting her know she was not alone in that meddling woman's tirade of underhanded insults and gossip.

She was lost in her thoughts, staring absently at nothing in particular as she went over this new information in her mind. It wasn't until Snape barked from another room that she realized a very large and very dopey looking grin had wormed its way across her face.

"Granger!" She jumped as his biting voice echoed from the hallway beyond. "We have a guest arriving in approximately twenty minutes and since you have wasted most of the time set aside for your debriefing chasing after your abysmal cat, I suggest you do _not_ test my patience further!" His voice echoed through the hall, and Hermione felt a sense of profound relief that she wouldn't be kept from their meeting completely.

"Yes, sir!" She answered, hastening to chase after her master.

"Get in here in the next thirty seconds or so help me, I'll leave you out completely!" He responded, a slew of insults following at too quiet a volume to be intercepted from Hermione's distance as the sound of several house elves popping into the drawing room reached her ears, simpering and squealing at the mention of a "guest".

"Thank you, sir!" She shouted back, practically sprinting to avoid inconveniencing him any further.

"Goddamn pests, just bring the tea tray will you, before I lost my mind. And for Salazar's sake, Granger, deal with that monstrous hair of yours before he arrives! I'll not have you shedding on a customer again!"

"Right away, sir!" Hermione's voice replied, a tad too cheerful to be entirely normal a response to her master's sour tone as she, too, disappeared into the hallway and firelit room beyond.

* * *

Hermione spent the next twenty minutes listening to Professor Snape give her the shortened version of what had obviously been a much more in depth profile on their customer, taking several short breaks to order the house elves out of the room as they kept reappearing with pastries or innocuous tasks such as dusting the already spotless furniture.

Patrick Simmons had very little public history, and although many were familiar with his name, few could say they knew him personally.

He had a sparse and squeaky clean record with the ministry, and the only information he had delivered to them was the time of the appointment, a list of rather pricey ingredients, and 20,ooo gallons to cover costs and inconveniences.

Professor Snape had an entire stack of recorded sightings and lists of residencies, occupations, OWL and NEWT scores, and even pet ownership certificates under the name of Patrick Simmons he had intended on analyzing with Hermione. He was a cautious man-he wouldn't have survived the war if he wasn't- and was subsequently prone to moments of paranoia.

The term " _constant vigilance"_ swam to the forefront of Hermione's mind as she leafed through the stack of papers, and she smiled. It was surely a benefit to have such a discreet master, many of their dealings were with equally guarded wizards and witches. Snape made it his business to know what he could about his customers as a precaution.

"Master Severus and Miss Hermione!" a particularly petite house elf arrived, for the third time, balancing a tray of biscuits and a broom and dustpan in her arms, "you is needing more food? Dinky is making sandwiches and Pokey is baking cauldron cakes. I is bringing you more biscuits!" The elf beamed at them before dumping the pile of food onto the already heavily laden tray.

Professor Snape glowered, saying nothing as the elf began to dutifully sweep the floor, casting anxious glances at the fireplace in search of their incoming guest.

Hermione sighed and set down her paper, "Sopsy, I'm so glad you want to help us get ready for our client, but we really don't need anything more right now. We'd like to be undisturbed." She cleared her throat as the house elf stopped what she was doing and peered up at her, looking heartbroken at not being able to attend to their customer. It was still very uncomfortable for her to give the house elves instructions. She still stood by her opinions on their freedom, however once Professor Snape caught wind of her trying to tell his house elves to take the day off, he made sure she knew that they all had volunteered to work for him, but that he still needed them to maintain basic household functions while they worked. She disagreed with him but bit her tongue when he glared at her, and that was the end of that.

"Sopsy, do what Miss Granger tells you to," Professor Snape said as he read Patrick Simmons' tax receipts from five years back. Sopsy nodded, ears flopping back and forth almost violently, and disappeared again.

"I _am_ capable of telling a house elf to mind its own business, believe it or not." Hermione said, flopping back onto her wingback chair.

"Yes, but Sopsy likes to sucker people into letting her stay. She's the most social house elf I've met." He replied, flipping to the next page of his document.

"All the same. I'm capable of holding my ground." She said. "Did we actually get all that stuff on his list?"

"Most of it," Professor Snape said, "Some I already had in stock. I've been brainstorming what potions he could need based on this list, but the only ones that come close don't use every single ingredient."

Hermione picked up the list from where it rested on the coffee table, scanning the items and quickly drafting potential potions that could be made.

"What about Alihotsy Draught?"

"Doesn't require Ashwinder eggs."

"The Mopsus Potion?"

"We would need more Mandrake leaves then what is on that list."

"Perhaps the list is incomplete."

"I suspect we will find out in a moment."

A smirk curled around Hermione's lips as she rattled off the next potion, "Garroting Gas?"

Professor Snape folded his documents with a sharp _snap_ and glared at her, brows furrowing, "What do you take me for, Miss Granger?"

Hermione couldn't help but let a small giggle escape her. Garroting Gas was one of the worst pranking potions on the market. It essentially combined non reactive toxic ingredients that upon ingestion created the most horrible flatulence one could imagine. It regularly ran out of stock at Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

"But sir," she said between chuckles, "it uses most of the ingredients on this list. The rest of these could simply make a high strength calming draught." The look on her master's face was enough to send her into another fit of giggles.

Professor Snape regarded her for a long moment, scowling for most of it before his lips twitched slightly. "If I find out Mister Simmons wasted 20,000 galleons on an unsavory digestive potion, I might just make you prepare the whole thing."

Hermione outright laughed at that, happy that he joined in on her banter, but even more so that he would let her take a customer on by herself, even in the most absurd context.

"I may take you up on that." She replied, watching him stir in some sugar into his cup of earl grey. When she first discovered how he took his tea, she found it deliciously ironic that someone so sour could stand his tea with four scoops of sugar and enough cream to turn it completely white.

The lapsed into comfortable silence then, casually filing away all of their Patrick Simmons papers into a cabinet alongside the rest of their clientele, they had so much of it accumulated they had to cast several Extension Charms to fit it all in.

With all the documents filed away, it was quite peaceful with the roaring fire and quiet _clink_ of her master's silver spoon against the china cup as he stirred in yet another spoonful of sugar.

She made herself her own cup, just black thank-you-very-much, with a drizzle of honey, and settled back into her chair to await the arrival of their guest. The large clock on the farmost wall clicked away, gears churning closer and closer to their appointment. It was her favorite piece of the drawing room, borderline steampunk visually, huge brass hands with great looping swirls overtop a marbled face, gears peering out from elegant incisions near the center.

She knew it was a gift from Professor McGonagall, she would have figured it out from her insignia near the lower right hand corner even if he hadn't told her the first time he found her inspecting it. He was almost embarrassed during the explanation, it had been a welcoming home gift after he came home from St. Mungo's, she had spent a good deal of time caring for him alongside Madam Pomfrey, against his wishes, of course.

She still liked to stare at it, three years after Professor Snape told her its story. She liked that he hadn't stored it in a corner to gather dust after he could take care of himself again. It reminded her he did have a sentimental side, even as buried as it was. She supposed he thought himself shallow for keeping something so extravagant around, from what he'd alluded.

In her eyes, it just made him all the more human.

She poured herself another cup of tea, having quickly downed the first one in her contemplation. Her professor had taken it upon himself to crack open one of his denser tomes, tea already gone. She refilled his cup as well, smiling softly as he glanced up at her just as she was setting the kettle down. Hermione nudged the cream and sugar in his direction. Snape merely sighed, summoning another book from his shelves and extended it to her. She accepted it gratefully and tucked in as he began piling more sugar into his cup.

* * *

It wasn't long after their small interlude that the fireplace roared to life, green flames spitting and spiraling as a nasal voice announced "Patrick Simmons". A potbellied man of modest height popped his head through, smiling when he saw Hermione, before walking into the room. _Walking is loosely phrased._ Hermione thought to herself. _Waddling is more like it._

Professor Snape and Hermione stood from their respective chairs, the former wrinkling his nose as Patrick Simmons dusted soot off of his cloak and onto the clean floor.

"Well, this establishment is quite the looker if I say so myself. Marvelous really. Yes, quite marvelous." He continued to prune himself, dusting off his shoulders and stomping his shoes before exaggeratedly running a bloated hand through what was left of his greying ginger hair, a mere patch on his otherwise bald head, although his large beard more than made up for it.

Hermione glanced at her master, who continued to disdainfully watch their customer pepper the black tile floor with ash. She's been here before. Her master tended to get… wound up when customers did not promptly acknowledge him, and she had never seen one produce this much debris before, so that could only add to his sour mood.

Quickly trying to remedy the situation, Hermione cleared her throat and cast a quick cleansing charm, then vanished the contents on the floor.

"Welcome to _Snape Solutions_ , we're very, er, pleased to have you here, Mister Simmons." Hermione nodded her head to the man, and motioned to present Professor Snape. She certainly did not expect the pudgy man to grab her by the hand and proceed to vigorously shake it with no intent of stopping.

" _Snape Solutions_ is it? Very good, very nice. Charming. I heard of your work through the Floo, never picked up the actual name, only the address. Lovely, good. Very good. And who might you be? Merlin, you're a pretty bird. Don't see many lovely little potioneers these days, do you? Very good, lovely, very lovely." He continued to shake her hand, not noticing in the slightest as she tried to extract herself. He was even more ridiculous looking up close, sweaty brows, rough cheeks, and watery blue eyes watching her unblinkingly as he breathed heavily, either from Flooing or the zeal he put into cleaning his traveller's cloak.

Hermione blinked, taken aback by his commentary. She wasn't sure if she was flattering or mortified, but she was leaning more and more towards the latter as her hand began to grow moist from the sweat rubbing off from Mr. Simmons.

"Uhm, yes well, I'm not a potioneer, I'm an apprentice. I'd like to present my Master, Severus Snape." She looked back at him, expecting him to be thoroughly enjoying her uncomfortableness with the situation. Instead, she was surprised to find him staring darkly at Mr. Simmons; or rather, Mr. Simmons heavy hand squeezing the life out of Hermione's smaller one.

"Mr. Simmons," he drawled, nodding his head in greeting, "what a pleasure. _Kindly_ take your hands off my apprentice so we might begin our meeting." He motioned to the third chair, closest to the tea tray. Mr. Simmons face lit up at the sight of the pile of cakes and biscuits. Hermione was suddenly very thankful they'd managed to keep the house elves out, she had a feeling they'd never begin the meeting if they saw the messes Mr. Simmons was so quick to create, not to mention his apparent taste for pumpkin pasties.

Hermione wiped her hand on her robes and followed behind her master as he sweeped towards his chair, his presence was much stronger in the room now, nearly suffocating in its dominance as he folded pale fingers against his his chest and watched Mr. Simmons pile his plate high with various desserts.

 _Those 20,000 galleons better be worth it._ Hermione thought, nearly groaning. It seemed like this man was tailored to push Professor Snape's buttons. Crumbs began to appear down Mr. Simmons front and making their way to the seat of his chair as he polished off his first treat before reaching for another. Professor Snape's face twitched.

"I understand you are quite urgently in need of a potion, Mr. Simmons. I confess I find myself curious at what you will be requesting given the long list of ingredients and… vague instructions." Professor Snape said.

"Mmm, yes. Quite vague, quite. Of course, I was certain you would understand, there are eyes and ears everywhere. Not even money can buy secrecy, you know. No no no, can't even trust an owl not to get fickle." Simmons commented, pausing to take a sip of tea before practically inhaling the rest of his food.

"I trust you will enlighten us shortly, then. We are on a considerable time constraint, we have another client arriving at three."

They did not have a client arriving at three.

"Oh bugger, wouldn't want to press you and your pretty bird for time, then." Simmons said, passing the plate of pastries to Hermione, who merely sat them on the end table nearest to her, thankfully out of Patrick Simmons' reach.

 _I'm_ not _a "pretty bird"._ Hermione thought loudly, half hoping her master would catch on. He fixed a stern look at her, obviously equally irritated but instructing her to remain neutral.

"Yes, quite. Mr. Simmons, my apprentice and I are eager to know what you have in store for us."

"Yes, yes. I do have something quite terrific in store for you two, don't I? Quite terrific." He smiled jovially, a quite unsavory smile, and then produced a large folder from the folds of his robes, levitating it over to Professor Snape.

Her master unravelled the twine holding it together, and began to dissect its contents. Mr. Simmons did not bother to elaborate on his "terrific" order, seemingly content to watch his supplier figure it out himself.

Hermione was feeling horribly left out of the whole thing, not possessing a file of her own, nor able to glean anything from Mr. Simmons himself.

"Mr. Simmons, as fascinating as this looks, I'm afraid I will need you to provide some sort of explanation for these equations and instructions. There are several variants here. I would hate to use the wrong one." Professor Snape said, casually stacking the papers up again and neatly closing the file.

Hermione was grateful her master had prompted him, relieved he was making an effort to include her by making him explain it himself. Professor Snape was more than capable of figuring out the file himself. Playing the fool for her sake meant more than she would ever dare tell him.

"Oh, I'm sure your lovely assistant is dying to know as well. How rude of me. You see, I find myself in delicate circumstances of late. I'm sure you will have done some digging about me before I found myself in your Floo. If you knew where to look, you'll notice I was a rather large donor to the Time department in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry before the war. Most of those records are kept under wraps for the Unspeakables sake, however I've found there are several rather loose drawers around the Ministry that hold the most _compelling_ information." He took another bite of dessert, crumbs settling into his beard.

"It is apart of all of our dealings to find out what we can about our customers. It is my way of avoiding… unsavory witches and wizards that are looking for trouble." Professor Snape elaborated, watching Simmons expectantly.

"Good on you, good on you. That's quite the right attitude. I couldn't agree more. I confess I find myself reluctant to share the true nature of my situation with you, now that I think on it. You may find me to be just the sort you are looking to avoid."

Professor Snape began to speak but was abruptly cut off by Simmons nasally pitch. "No matter, I've already invested enough galleons in your practice for either of us to leave empty handed, no matter your reservations. I've spent the last twenty years accumulating enough research and developments from various wizards and witches to draft up a potion I think you will find most intriguing. The trouble with it is, I find myself unskilled enough to attempt it on my own. Many of my contacts were killed in the war, tragically. There aren't enough skilled potioneers left to obtain something like this. Your practice however, is solitary enough I found it satisfactory to serve my circumstances."

Professor Snape furrowed his brow, tracing his thin lips with a delicate hand as he listened to Simmons drone on. Hermione could hardly stand to watch their client dance around the issue any longer. The only thing that restrained her from impatiently blurting out " _what is it?",_ was the very real chance she would never sit another meeting if she embarrassed her master.

Simmons paused, waiting for either one of them to comment on his story. When neither spoke he continued on without batting an eye. "As I mentioned before, I was a heavy donor to the Time Department. They found it to their advantage to incorporate some of my own interests into their research in order to upkeep the vast amounts of money they were spending. The Ministry simply couldn't continue to cover their advances, and were considering scrapping the whole thing even before that disaster with the Time Turners a few years back."

Hermione shuddered, recalling her involvement at the Department of Ministries her fifth year. She'd never forget the feeling of Dolohov's curse ripping through her, or the countless glamours she'd had to cast around her parents before she spirited them away to Australia to avoid questions. She'd gotten a few healers from St. Mungo's to sort them out after the war, but they preferred to stay where she put them. She still visited them when she could, and she never really addressed what had happened during the war. She wasn't sure she ever could.

"After that whole debacle, I managed to recollect the various research I had gleaned from them and took my work elsewhere. To cut it short, I've finally rounded out enough of it to create a substantial potion, or rather my researchers have, and I'd like to see it come to fruition." He sunk back into his chair, pleased with his explanation, and reached for the plate of sandwiches.

"Say, d'you think we could get a spot of herbal tea? It would go lovely with this tomato basil."

Ignoring Simmons appetite, Professor Snape prompted him again, "I understand the general direction of this, but what exactly is the quality of such a heavily drafted potion?"

"Oh, it's in the notes. It's much too hush-hush to talk about like this, even in this home. You never know who's lurking around the corner. How well do you really know your owls? Your house elves?" He focused a watery eye on Hermione, "Your apprentice?"

Professor Snape clenched his jaw, "Certainly better than you do, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I meant no offense, just being reasonable is all." Simmons said amicable. Hermione had to suppress a snort at that. Patrick Simmons gave Severus Snape a run for his money when it came to paranoia. She thought she'd seen it all.

"I will say this though," he said, leaning forward, belly and beard flopping between his legs. "It's a time-travel potion, something never-before-seen."

Professor Snape snorted, "It takes much less effort to time travel than brewing a difficult potion, Mr. Simmons."

Mr. Simmons, daft as he was, lost a bit of his dottiness for a mere moment, a sly smirk coloring his face like a bloated cheshire cat. For a moment, Hermione saw him as he might've been in a younger age. He looked to be a bit more crafty than he originally appeared.

"My dear Snape, any old idiot can grab a time turner and go back in time. Its going _around_ in time that's the real trick."

 **This took entirely too long to write. Anticipate a quicker update next week. Still don't own anything, except for Patz Simmons, but he's not much of a prize.**


	3. No Touchy, Please

_Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love._

" _Around_ in time, sir?" Hermione broke the silence that had fallen over their meeting.

"Yes, yes. Precisely. I told you you'd be interested." Patrick Simmons nodded along, happily taking another sip of his tea before brandishing a wand.

Professor Snape tensed out of the corner of Hermione's eye, he was still quite jumpy after settling into a domestic occupation, if you could call it that. She shifted nervously in her chair as Simmons waved his wand around sharply, summoning the files out of Professor Snape's hands and waving them over to Hermione's lap. She could've sworn up and down she felt the room drop a few degrees as Professor Snape's tense gaze fell upon the papers gently floating over her.

"There you are, my dear. Have a look yourself. I dare say you might be able to make more sense of it than your master, by the looks of you."

Hermione glanced nervously at Professor Snape, his dark eyes trapped her in their heat as he stared her down. He nodded sharply, giving her permission to explore the files, and she opened them carefully. He was very obviously annoyed, thankfully not at her, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed as well.

"You know, I was on The Board of Governors for Hogwarts a few years back. I remember you." Patrick Simmons said to Professor Snape conversationally.

Hermione didn't bother to hear her master's reply, she was far too absorbed in the research she was slowly flipping through. It was probably for the best, Professor Snape was irritated already, bringing up his past would only make the atmosphere worse and there was not a thing Hermione could do to change it.

The file opened to several early stage experiments, apparently on the theory itself, before a potion was even involved. It was purely theory, with a few failed time turner modifications, handwritten on thick paper with the Department of Mysteries seal in the lower left hand corner. She looked over the information, resisting the urge to have a closer look at everything. Professor Snape was sure to break everything down with her afterwards, and she wanted to get the meeting over with quickly. She also wasn't sure how long her master could stand to make small talk with someone he found to be as deeply irritating as Simmons.

After several more Department of Mysteries documents, there were several smaller files of instructions and experiments from independent parties, thankfully in chronological order, that seemed to build upon each other. The last file was thicker than the rest, and held a very lengthy list of steps and the theory that comprised the final potion. There was also a list of potion ingredients identical to the one delivered to their apothecary in the very back of the file.

She lowered the papers to her lap, steeling herself to interrupt what was looking to be a terrific one sided row between her master and their guest; Professor Snape had steam practically coming out his ears and was winding up to snarl something nasty at Patrick Simmons who was watching him with a twinkle in his eye from across the rug. It oddly reminded her of something Dumbledore would do. She didn't know him as well as Harry had, but he always seemed to possess an aloof demeanor and enjoyed pushing others buttons while happily appearing to remain above any argument that may come of it. Of course, Dumbledore was dead and this man had quite a bit more of a mean streak in him.

The potion he was paying them liberally to prepare wasn't nice. It would probably be classified as dark if the Ministry were to have a proper look at it, which was ironic considering it had come from the Ministry to begin with. Instead of sending the drinker back in time like a time turner would, it trapped them in a time loop, the day it was consumed reoccurs forever while the person wastes away inside of it. She wasn't nearly bothered by darker creations such as these as she would have been some time ago, however this potion seemed one shade too insidious for her taste. One of the first things Professor Snape had done when she entered into her apprenticeship was conduct a long discussion on what made something dark or light, and how to sort through the many spells, charms, and potions that fell into the grey area between the two. Although she didn't subscribe to every opinion Professor Snape had on the topic, she was quite aware of the limitations the Ministry had placed on magic, mostly because of the fear Lord Voldemort had spread in the Wizarding Wars. Before his time, there was much more room for creativity and exploration, wizards and witches were allowed more personal discretion in what they created and casted. The standards had not loosened any since Voldemort's defeat, and Ron and Harry were doing a bang up job of unearthing every dark magic practitioner on the face of the Earth, so the fear and paranoia of the last two decades was still fresh with every new update of their conquests in _The Daily Prophet._

Still, even with this fresh perspective, this potion was dark. Hermione cleared her throat, causing whatever insult Professor Snape was preparing to hurl at Simmons to die in his throat.

"Mr. Simmons, this potion is quite dark..." Hermione began, standing up to cross over to Professor Snape and hand him back the files. As she handed him the files, she stared into his eyes meaningfully. It wasn't her call to decided if they would accept Simmon's order or not, but she knew that her master's reputation was still unstable. She wouldn't let one potion wash all the progress he'd made down the drain.

"My thoughts exactly." Said Simmons, finally full. He set down his teacup and plate and patted his stomach thoughtfully.

Hermione made her way back to her own chair, primly brushing its spotless seat before sitting down and crossing her legs. "If you are in agreement why would you want us to make it?" She asked, tilting her head curiously.

"Well, I was rather hoping that you could modify some of the darker components while retaining its purpose." He said, smoothing his beard. "The people I had to hire to formulate this masterpiece were on the sketchier side, you see, quite dangerous folk. They had the bad habit of slipping their own dark little surprises into my work that I only discovered when looking everything over to submit to your fine establishment."

Hermione and Professor Snape exchanged a glance. Her stomach fluttered as she thought about working first hand on potion modification with a Potions Master. It was guaranteed to be exciting work.

Professor Snape retook charge of the conversation. "You'd like us to work out those dark components, and reshape it closer to what you envisioned. That's easily enough done, but where exactly is this potion going after we procure it?"

Although Patrick Simmons was at perfect liberty to tell them it was none of their business, it wouldn't exactly win them over. "Well, this is highly classified information I'm about to reveal, quite secretive. It's bad enough bringing the conversation up as it is, you never really know who is pressing their ear up against the wall these days, do you? And really, I-"

"I assure you, this establishment is well protected against eavesdroppers." Professor Snape grounded out.

"Sir please, if we knew where this potion was going, it would help ease our apprehensions. We'd love to help you, but a potion like this leaves room for… abuse." Hermione said, forcing herself to smile at the man. He was obviously crazy, who knew who he'd dose up once he got ahold of the potion.

Simmons stared into his cup of tea for several long moments, before quickly draining it and clearing his throat. He fixed his watery eyes on Hermione once more, and she gripped the arms of her chair tightly under his heavy gaze.

"I have a- debt to settle. A rather large one. It really is highly private business. I won't say anything more one it, not a word. The man in question is the scum of the earth. I assure you he won't be missed by anyone." A cruel glint flashed in his eyes. The hair on the back of Hermione's neck stood up at the look of grim admission on the man's face.

"What say you, Severus Snape? Will you help a man repay his fortune?" He finally looked at her master, who presently had his spidery fingers steepled against his thin lips. His brow was furrowed, and the entire room fell into an anxious silence as the other two parties held their breath for his response.

After several long minutes of thought, he stacked the papers and set them aside before rising from his seat.

Simmons rose hastily with him, "Well?"

Severus Snape ignored him, and walked over to Hermione with precise, slow steps. Arriving at the foot of her chair, he looked down at her in careful consideration, before extending a pale hand.

Hermione swallowed, and carefully set her hand in his, allowing him to bring her to her feet. _What is he doing? Why hasn't he answered Simmons? Does this mean yes? Does it mean no?_ She wasn't sure what he was thinking, and had expected his hand to be cold. She was pleasantly surprised to find it as warm as her cup of tea, and slightly rough. It felt oddly intimate, he'd never shown this kind of courtesy to her before, ever. Her eyes narrowed as she quickly calculated that he must be doing it as some kind of ulterior motive, and it had to do with Simmons, not her.

"Miss Granger, do you think you are capable of aiding your Master in Mr. Simmons' order?" He asked, releasing her hand quickly, as if he had never offered it in the first place.

"Yes, of- of course." She answered immediately, trying not to sound as confused as she felt by his behaviour.

Her Master regarded her for another moment, before nodding his head and turning towards their client. "Then I accept your offer."

Simmons clapped his hands together loudly, "Lovely! Just peachy. You'll enjoy the work, I know you will. I'm sure your apprentice will as well. Having such a lovely second pair of hands around will be a tremendous help I'm sure." He winked at Hermione, who felt a blush rise to her cheeks that she quickly tried to force back down.

"Indeed. If that is all, Mr. Simmons, we have another client on their way within the hour, as much as your company is appreciated."

Simmons agreed heartily, shaking hands vigorously with both Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, before waddling over to the fireplace once more. He looked around for a moment before turned back to the pair.

"Er, where do you think I might find your Floo Powder?"

Professor Snape smirked, before waving a slender hand in a short arc. Green flames engulfed the regular fire. Simmons shouted his destination then wedged himself into the hearth, disappearing into the flames with a loud _pop_.

* * *

Hermione hardly waited for their client to disappear before she rounded on her master and began her interrogation.

"What was that?" She asked, eyes glued to his massive, dark form as he turned away from her, resettling himself in his armchair.

"What, exactly, are you referring to?" He replied, folding his hands across his stomach and crossing his legs, leaning back into the grey velvet as he regarded her.

"Well, for starters, what was the motive behind asking my opinion before you accepted? Why _did_ you accept?" She planned on continuing, but paused as a smirk curled over Professor Snape's features.

"You'd think, instead of berating me, you'd be grateful for the opportunity." He said softly, dark eyes glittering.

Hermione shivered, she couldn't tell if she was treading on thin ice with him presently. He used to be so much more blunt and constant with his irritation, lately he seemed much more subtle with his aggravation, and it left him as quickly as it came.

"Of course I'm grateful. But you have a reputation to uphold. You escaped Azkaban by the skin of your teeth." She huffed, "I don't know why you'd risk that for some old man who's got his knickers in a twist over some long term enemy!"

"Azkaban is not a concern of mine. There was no doubt I would walk away from my charges without fault." He replied smoothly.

"Not a concern! The Wizengamot's vote was nearly tied! Your trial was hardly a walk in the park. I should know, I bloody well testified for you!" She huffed, her voice reaching shrill by the end.

Her master's eyes narrowed, and Hermione's anger was suddenly cut by a spike of fear as she realized her reaction may have been a touch out of place. She didn't know what had gotten into her since her apprenticeship. She knew he'd never hurt her, and they got on so amicably at times she had begun to feel at ease around him.

"Oh I know all you've done to _help_ me." He practically spat, his eyes so dark she feared they'd swallow her whole. He rose sharply from his seat, and Hermione's heart lept to her throat as he began that slow, sharp walk towards her he'd done before, in front of Simmons.

But now they were alone, as Hermione was increasingly aware of, and although she should be bracing herself for the verbal onslaught that was surely heading her way, her mind kept jumping to the memory of his hand in hers, slender fingers barely curved around her small hand, resting in his palm lighter than a butterfly.

 _What the hell?_

Hermione forced the thought out of her mind hastily, filing it away to be taken out and re examined at a later date. Professor Snape had stopped several feet from her, eyes still narrowed to a sharp, cold gaze. He summoned Simmons' papers from the table, and ran a finger across the top, fanning them out before snapping them all together again.

"Enough. You are the apprentice, and you'll do as I instruct. We start this project tonight."

Hermione swallowed heavily, and nodded.

His eyes softened, and Hermione knew that she'd been quietly forgiven. She knew that an apprenticeship of her caliber required absolute connection between the pair of them. Any long term blockage, be it emotional or otherwise, could potentially prevent the apprenticeship vows from being fulfilled and therefore the apprenticeship and in turn, the life debt.

"I assume you've comprehended the notes enough to understand the primary function of this potion?" He began, regaining his seat and motioning for Hermione to take the seat next to his.

"Yes, I also had a chance to look at the potion's ingredients and outline, although not the process." She replied. He nodded at her to continue, brandishing the latest potion model from the stack of papers.

"Well, at a glance, the potion's base consists of dragon liver, lobalug venom, and mint. This portion of the potion is stable enough, however the addition of foxglove seemed to offset the balance between the acidity of the lobalug venom and the mint, which causes the dragon liver to dissolve in the venom at an increased pace, too fast, in fact. This prevents the foxglove from saturating enough of the potion, so it is unable to bond strongly with the incantation. Although the product at the end _works_ , the drinker would not be able to sustain the toxins that were unable to dissolve from the foxglove, causing heart failure before the individual is able to, er, _appreciate_ the time loop." Hermione finished, tucking her feet to her chest and curling up into her chair.

"Precisely. What might we do to remedy this?" Professor Snape pulled a pad of paper and a muggle pen from the drawer of his coffee table, writing something down. That was another quirk she had discovered about him, without other wizards nearby to judge him, her master used muggle things almost as regularly as wizard things. She found it it peculiar yet comforting.

Judging by the way he pursued his lips, she had the hunch he already had the answer to his question, but she replied anyways.

"I'd consider adding rose oil to slow the process and dull the effects. This would prolong risk of heart failure and increase the power of the incantation, because it would be able to bond stronger."

Professor Snape nodded absently, continuing his cramped scrawl along his page. She waited for him to prompt her again, yet he seemed to grow lost in whatever he was working out in his mind. Several minutes past, and Hermione grew anxious he'd forgotten she was even there. She felt strangely jealous he was figuring the potion out himself. She was supposed to help him!

She set out to bring his attention back to her. "What are you writing?"

"Mmm." Was his only reply.

Hermione let out a frustrated breath of air, and briefly considered prodding him with her foot. She dismissed the idea quickly, he'd surely hex her. Besides, she wasn't an attention starved child, she could wait until he was ready to discuss with her.

Many long moments passed while she waited for him to come back to their conversation. The room grew warm and heavy with the heat of the fire and the plush comfort of her chair. Hermione didn't remember dozing off until she was jolted awake by sudden cold and darkness as her master extinguished the fire.

She gasped and lurched to her feet in surprise, not quite awake. It was one of the things she never could shake off from the war, the hypersensitivity to light, temperature, sound etc. It was why she didn't go to light shows anymore, or take well to Ron scaring her from behind.

She stumbled forward in the darkness, blindly yet frantically searching for her wand to banish the darkness and relight the fire. She tripped and let out a muffled squeak as she braced herself to hit the hard wooden floor. Strong hands caught her by the arms, and she ran into a solid chest.

"What- what?" Hermione spluttered, grabbing onto what she assumed was her potion master's forearms as she steadied herself. "I thought we were going to work on the potion?"

"We did," in the darkness his baritone filled the room, "I was modifying the incantation when you seemingly lost interest and fell asleep." He let go of her, and silently lit his wand.

"I didn't lose interest! You left me out of what you were doing, and I may have… dozed."

"I'm pretty sure you snored at some point, Granger."

"I do _not_ snore. I thought you were going to let me help?" She argued, slight embarrassment coloring her tone.

"I allowed you what little help you could provide at this stage. The main objective here is that you _learn_. What I was formulating was far beyond your skill at this point. We will review it tomorrow." He said, ushering her through the hallway.

She let him lead her, "Why not tonight? The hour is early enough."

"It's nearly midnight, Granger." He said, amusement in his voice at her enthusiasm.

She halted in her tracks. "Midnight? How long did I sleep for?"

He encouraged her to keep walking with a hand on the small of her back, they rounded the corner to the main hallway before he spoke again. "It wasn't something I was particularly aware of, I was rather absorbed in my work."

"You've never worked through the night on something you're excited on?" She argued again, yet began slipping her cloak on in the process.

The professor snorted, "Of course, however you are much more likely than I am to make a mistake if we indulge ourselves in continuing. We are hardly on a time constraint and besides, you've already fallen asleep once. It would be quite hazardous to keep an eye on my apparently narcoleptic apprentice while trying to experiment, wouldn't you agree?"

Any argument Hermione might have countered him with was stifled by the large yawn that escaped her lips. He had a point, she conceded.

Fastening her cloak, she opened the door. Turning around, she was surprised to find him still watching her.

"Until tomorrow?" She said, readjusting the strap of her bag.

"Do not be late." He warned, arching his brow.

"Count on it." She replied with a small smile, before stepping into the night and disapparating with a muffled _crack._

The potion master shut the door immediately, yet hovered at its handle for several moments more, an odd feeling in his chest that he couldn't place.

* * *

Hermione shut and locked the door to her apartment, setting her coat and bag on the nearest chair before softly calling out to her companion. Crookshanks sauntered lazily from the shadows, his tail flicking in the slivers of moonlight radiating from the windows as he arrived at his owner's feet. She picked him up and scratched his ears before nestling her face in his pelt, the sensation of her professor's hand on hers running on loop in her mind, an odd feeling rising in her chest she couldn't place.


	4. Teach Me

" _How this woman had managed to get under his skin and claw her way inside was a mystery._

 _He couldn't leave her there though. His entire being was screaming at him to get her out."_

― _Caroline Cairn_ _, Forever and One Week_

They're together again. In that dark room, the fire hushed to a low murmur. Hermione sits in the chair, _his_ chair. The grey velvet is warped by the bright cast of the flames, casting long shadows over the wooden floor and carpet, her long curls burning in a bright halo around her freckled cheeks. Severus Snape stalks closer, intent on his apprentice, moving forward slowly and silently like a shark in deep waters. She smiles softly, some sort of secret curling around her lips, and anticipates his hand as it reaches out. He guides her smoothly to her feet, yet she steps towards him of her own volition.

Hermione's hand, as thin and spidery as his own, moves from his palm to forearm. He tightens his grip on her this time, not as keen to let her leave as he was earlier. The crackling fire heightens to a deafening roar as she tilts her face up towards his.

"Teach me." She whispers, the intimacy between them sea deep, her breath brushing against his neck, her gaze unblinking and drawing him deeper in.

"Teach you what?" Severus murmurs, his voice a low rumble even to his own ears.

"Anything." Hermione answers, unreservedly, before evaporating into the air as if her form had been sewn together with sea mist and smoke, as vapid as the fire illuminating her.

* * *

Severus jerked awake, the sweat on his skin already cooling. He breathed harshly, realizing how far his dreams had strayed that night. Dreams of Lily, he could tolerate. Enjoy even. But not now or ever would he suffer through a dream of Hermione Granger, the eternal bane of his existence. His _pupil_.

Letting a quiet growl, Severus Snape slammed up his occlumency shields for the first time since the war, gripped his sheet with white knuckles, and rolled over to the other side of his bed. He would _not_ dream of her.

He wouldn't.

* * *

Hermione started her morning with Crookshanks large, ginger belly suffocating her face.

"Crooks!" She moaned, gently pushing him onto the mattress beside her.

He meowed disdainfully, swishing his tail to bat her in the face before hopping onto the floor and strutting out into the hallway.

She reached blindly for her wand, finding it buried in between her comforter and sheets. With a lazy wave, the curtains drifted open, Crookshanks bowl refilled itself, and Hermione's sleep frizzed hair reorganized itself into curls once more.

She dressed and ate mechanically, fulfilling her routine like clockwork as she did every morning. An hour later and she's throwing her cloak on, ready to meet her master for their first day with their new project.

Just as she turned to grab her bag, Crookshanks streaked across the room and sank his claws into the leather strap, gnawing on the buckle with fiendish desperation.

"Stop it!" She cried, scrambling to hold onto other end of the bag. The object of conflict spilled open, dozens of papers scattering to the floor. Crookshanks abandoned the strap to snatch at the papers, balling one up in his mouth while gashing deep grooves into another. She pulled her wand and silently called the bag and the papers back to her. The sharp and irritated snap of magic hanging in the air caused the cat to drop the crumbled paper from his mouth, dried ink smeared on his whiskers. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as he eyed Hermione with narrowed slits. Her bag _reeked_ of bad smells. Old plants and another house and something masculine and foreign and dangerous. She reached out to him, to gather him in her arms like she always does. He let out a hiss, ears flattened to his skull.

Hermione hesitated, Crookshanks had never acted so volatile since she'd owned him. She watched his yellow eyes trace over her, and let her hand remain hovered in the air as it was when she'd tried to reach out to him.

She swallowed heavily. She was running late, unsurprisingly, and had promised Professor Snape he could count on her. She pocketed her wand and swung the bag over her shoulder, watching with a wince as her companion darted back under the table. A small twinge of worry plagued her heart at his unusual behavior.

"See you tonight Crooks." She whispered softly, letting herself out and shutting the door silently behind her.

Hermione left her apartment and apparated to the apothecary quickly, rushing up the steps and jerking open the antique door harder than usual so that it wouldn't stick like it usually does.

Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation at the thought of what the day held in store. She was sure to learn more with her master in the next few weeks than she had in the last few months. Even her experimentation with _Felix Felicis_ couldn't compare to the level of expertise she would gain from this.

 _And you'll be with him,_ a quiet voice whispered in the back of her head. She faltered in hanging up her cloak, startled by her own thoughts.

 _I'm always with him,_ she thinks, _this isn't any different. I mean sure, most of the time I self teach from his library, but I've assisted him before. I've helped him prepare ingredients, I've even added them to the cauldron myself-_ her train of thought was cut off by the memory of cutting up various roots and animal parts, gently adding them to the potion under his gaze, the unsaid approval satisfying something deep seated within her. Finally she was his primary focus, in the way she never was at Hogwarts. Despite her other professors' constant praise, she never truly moved past her need to make him _see_ her.

She thought back to last night, peering into her own reflection in his dark eyes, her hand seated in his. He certainly noticed her then.

A shiver ran down her spine. _Merlin, all he did was help me out of my seat! Why am I so focused on this?_ Her lip curled in irritation at her thoughts. Better to not think about it at all, and just keep pushing forwards. It didn't matter if he noticed her, he was forced make her his priority whether he wanted to or not.

She turned away from the main hall and rounded the corner to the study they were in yesterday. The fireplace was cold and the only other sign of life was the slow falling dust visible from cold daylight filtering in from the windows.

"Professor?" Hermione called, once softly then again louder. The room felt hollow without someone waiting for her, as he usually was. It only caused her stomach to twist even further. For a moment she worried he wasn't here at all, then she remembered he would never dream of leaving the house unlocked.

She poked her head out into the hallway again. "Professor Snape!" She yelled, then listened intently for signs of life as her voice echoed.

A shower of soft pink sparks glimmered at the end of the corridor, and she quickly walked towards them. They were fading softly at the foot of a shut door she had never opened before. Cautiously, she raised a hand to knock. The door swung open before her knuckles could touch the door, revealing a set of stone stairs curving downwards into darkness.

Hermione placed a foot on the first step gingerly, staring into the shadows as panic began to well up in her. She didn't like the dark, not after Malfoy Manor. She didn't particularly care for the sound of her boots scraping against the stone either. Her breath came out in a harsh pant as the darkness seemed to deepen, the stairs suddenly seemed much steeper.

"Professor?" She called out again, too anxious to be embarrassed by the way her voice quivered.

The sound of another door swinging open from the bottom of the curved stairway answered her, followed by another shower of sparks.

She hadn't the foggiest idea what was keeping him, or why he was down here to begin with, but he clearly wasn't about to come assist her down the stairs like an elderly woman or trembling child.

She sucked in another breath, " _Lumos_ ," she whispered, then made her way down the staircase.

The venture was shorter than expected, and she stepped into a well lit cellar a moment later. She halted in the doorway, instantly struck with fascination by all the intricate equipment that greeted her. Glass orbs hung from the ceiling with copper wire, a marble sink took up an entire wall, ancient runes scored deep around its perimeter. A shelf above it held countless cauldrons, made of materials she could only speculate. She entered slowly, entranced. Tall, green plants rested in a corner of the sink, submerged in pale purple water. A huge magnifying glass was propped up on a wooden desk, warping the neatly organized quills, ink, and parchment lined up on it.

Even more curious was the gigantic golden sphere next to the desk. It resembled a time turner in design, however instead of sand in the center, it contained an empty, smaller glass sphere. She reached out to gently prod it, to see how it might react to her touch.

"Look all you like, Miss Granger, but you mustn't touch." A strong voice broke through her blind fascination.

Hermione spun around to finally greet her missing master, and was taken aback by his casual attire. His regular black robes were replaced by a white button down and black pants, the shirt rolled up to his elbows. Her eyes followed his pale, strong arms as he folded them across his chest, leaning against one of the workstations. He looked… younger, lighter.

"I, er, couldn't find you when I arrived." She said, forcing her eyes to meet his again. He was watching her with blatant interest.

"I'd assumed you would be able to deduce for yourself my possible location, however after hearing your incessant mewling upstairs, I decided to _assist_ you." He responded, looking put out at her inability to navigate his home herself.

"Well, I'd _assumed_ you would be waiting for me in the same location you always have!" She retorted, flushing at his implied insult.

"Forgive me, I didn't realize you'd panic left to your own devices." He said, turning back to the table. He summoned a stool for her, and she sat down gracelessly next to him, taking in the organized chaos of parchment Professor Snape was studying.

"I can manage myself fine." Hermione muttered petulantly. He didn't bother responding to her then, instead writing something down on a fresh sheet of parchment. Identical to the night before, they sat in silence, the scratch of a quill filling up the empty air every so often. She was itching to ask for direction, for him to begin giving her instructions, but she held herself in check. Twisting her hands in her lap, she waited impatiently for her master to take the lead.

An hour passed before Severus Snape began to speak.

"What can you recall from your research on the relationship between spell incantation and potion brewing, Miss Granger?" He drawled, not even pausing to look up.

"Spell Incantation is useful for invoking the will of the brewer to magically redirect or enhance a potion," She began, "An incantation can elevate a brew from something basic or physically altering to a spiritual plane. The more complex the spell, or powerful the caster, the more potent the potion becomes. It is also argued, however, that the will of the caster is inherently more valuable than the power or complexity of the spell."

Her master nodded, "' _This is my will, so mote it be." *_

She recognized his allusion to one of the books he assigned her on this subject. "Precisely, sir."

"I was quite gifted at spell creation, once." He said, his voice softer as he concentrated on whatever he was writing. She stole a glance at his sheet, which was filled with arithmatic equations. She realized her was creating a new spell, most likely for the potion.

"Once, sir?" She said, attempting to keep the conversation going while making out what it was he was creating.

"I never lost the trade, merely redirected my interests." He elaborated, finishing off his equation and setting the quill down. He rested his forearms against the dark wood, finally looking over to her.

She waited for him to continue.

"The spell crafted for this potion is decent enough, however as you'll see here," he rooted around the pile of papers, producing one from the bottom and handing it to her, "it is inherently self destructive. It is not compliant with the time loop."

She looked at the paper, which contained a break down the spell itself, as well as wand movement, and the arithmancy used to form it. Whoever crafted it had an obvious flair for the dramatic; the wand motions alone were ridiculously complicated, not to mention the spell was a tongue twister.

"So, the spell is supposed to bond with the potion to create the time loop, I understand that much. However this spell is an odd interpretation of time travel laws, so I can see why it wouldn't work."

"Elaborate, if you please."

Hermione glanced at her master, who had not begun to write again. She propped her elbows on the table and lay the paper flat, gathering her thoughts.

"In my third year, I'm not sure if you were aware, I was entrusted with a Time Turner from the Ministry in order to achieve a heavier academic education that year I had to complete a course on Time Travel foundations before I was allowed to operate it." Professor Snape took the paper from her and laid it beside his own, drawing up his own stool, before motioning she continue.

"One of the first things we covered was the laws of time travel or ABC, Anchor, Butterfly Effect, and Counter Cause. I'm not sure if you've read on these yourself.

She peered at him cautiously, unsure how he would take that comment. He merely conceded with a nod of his head, "I have not. It was one of the reasons I asked if you thought yourself capable of aiding me on this project. I've never found it relevant to my research before now."

She saw the opportunity to seek answers about his behavior in front of Mr. Simmons the previous night, and didn't think twice about prodding him for more. "And the other reasons?" She asked innocently, straightening out an invisible crease in her shirt.

"It does not take a half wit to deduce that Patrick Simmons found you somewhat attractive," he said, halfway monotonous, "It was in our best interest to draw his attention to you, either through direct interaction with him or my own- hence relying on your decision rather than my own as the final answer."

"Oh please, we both know you would have hexed me off a cliff if I turned him down." She teased.

The corner of his mouth turned up in a small smirk, "You know me too well, Miss Granger," He said. She felt her heart flutter for a moment at his easy admission, as flippant as it could be. _What is wrong with me?_

He apparently sensed her growing confusion and she watched as the smirk wiped itself off his face entirely, his eyes losing their warmth like a swiftly cut fuse.

"We're getting off the subject," He clipped, and for once Hermione was grateful at his blunt redirection, her heart still climbing down from its heightened pace.

 _I don't even find him attractive. He's twice my age and not to mention my_ Professor. She silently argued with herself. Yes, she had spent more time with him than anyone else since her graduation from Hogwarts. And yes, lately she had found his company more palatable than she'd expected. That didn't change the fact that he was still moodier than a summer storm, reclusive, brittle, and at best, impartial to her.

 _Liar._

She cleared her throat, and resumed her impromptu lecture.

"Time Travel is based off of three pillars of law, as I said before. An anchor is a tether from the traveling witch or wizard between the present world they live in and the alternative past they are travelling to. When the individual interacts with a Time Turner, they are not entering a carbon copy of the past as it was, since the past is already significantly altered merely by their presence. Logically, this concludes that they are in an alternate dimension, parallel to the one they came from. Each action they cause moving forward propels them further from the original timeline. The anchor allows the traveller to remain "real", since they were born in a separate reality from the one they are presently in. Without something to connect them between the two, the traveller exists in neither, and will eventually begin to break down at a microscopic level. First magically, then physically, as the universe attempts to correct what appears as a mistake. This works together with the Butterfly Effect, as each action spirals the traveller further from their original timeline. The final law, Counter Cause, is also known as the "Time Traveller's Fail Safe". If a time traveller can manage to recreate the same event that would occur in the future of the original timeline, the two realities converge, and they return to the original reality they began with. It is a rare phenomenon, as time travel only happens in the past, not the future, and most people travel alone, so it is unlikely that something would occur twice in most situations."

"Indeed. And this is where the original incantation, and my own, fall into the same misstep." Professor Snape responds, returning his attention to the two papers in front of them. Relocating his quill, he points at the first equation on his sheet. "Both of these spells replicate the same idea. They both will fuse with the potion to create a time loop, fixating the same day and location on a permanent loop that resets itself. However it is not time travel in your definition, because I am not certain it creates that alternate reality you referenced. Like a needle skipping on a record, it merely repeats the same day, never moving past it. Because of this difference, I am unsure how an individual would react to being in the loop, since I do not know if it makes a difference whether they have an anchor or not if they never truly leave their dimension."

Hermione furrowed her brow, unsure at how to reply. She felt far out of her depth at the moment. The class she had enrolled in barely scratched the surface of time travel theory, and although she found it interesting knowledge, she hardly had time that year for extra research, with her massive class list. After that, she became so absorbed in the war that time travel was the last thing on her mind.

"I'm sorry, sir. I really can't say. You must have thought I knew more than I did on the matter." She bit her lip, wincing. The insufferable need to prove herself and her skill squirmed beneath her skin.

"Not at all, on the contrary. I make it a regular habit not to expect much from others as a personal rule. This is a competent start. We will need to make trip elsewhere for more extensive information." He said, stacking the papers with a flick of his wand, then summoning his black robes from where they were neatly folded on a chair nearby.

She nodded, watching him as he systematically buttoned the sleeves, and then began fastening the many rows down his chest. It occurred to her he must have been down here a long time to grow so uncomfortable he removed his robes.

"What were you doing down here anyway, sir?" She asked, immediately regretting not pausing to find a subtler way to ask.

"I spent most of the past six hours working on drafting the spell." He said, "As you can see I still have a ways to go." He finished buttoning his robes, grabbed the notes, and began striding towards the door, black fabric billowing behind him.

"You _said_ I would help you today!" She argued, hastening to keep up with him. "What happened to not working past midnight?!"

"I couldn't sleep," he growled, snapping his wand through the air to illuminate the shadows beyond the doorway. "Besides, I believe I directed that rule towards _you_ not _me._ "

"So when can I help you with the spell?" She knew she was being obnoxious, not to mention pushing her luck. She just wanted this so _bad._

"What do you think you're doing? If you find the way I plan on conducting this project to _dull_ for your senses, there are plenty of books on spell incantation in the study I would be more than _happy_ to supply you with while I'm gone." He hissed, climbing up the steps at a faster pace than Hermione could maintain.

"No, that's… not necessary. Sir." She replied instantly, out of breath with how fast she was moving to even keep close to the edge of his robes.

"Good. I have it on good record you are quite the researcher. I'd hate to do all the dirty work myself when you are perfectly capable of doing it with me." He said, the irritation in his voice present yet dying.

 _Forgiven again, don't tell me that doesn't mean something._ She thinks, then frowns at herself as she follows him back into the study. He raises his wand and summons his cloak. She motions to do the same, stopping only when she realizes he'd summoned both of them, not just his own.

Their fingers brush again as she takes it from him, and she fights to keep the blush from her face.

He lights the fire with a flick of his wand, the flames glowing bright amber before quickly flickering to the cool emerald of the Floo.

"Ministry of Magic." He states, firm and clear.

The last thing she feels before she steps into the burning flames is his hand on her back again, guiding her.

 **Like it? Hate it? Please review, and let me know your thoughts! I'm so thankful for all the follows, favorites, and reviews so far!**

 ***Reference to "Celtic Book of Shadows" an actual book on spell incantation and potions.**


	5. He's Like Art Terrible Art, But Art

I love that pensive, curious expression on your face when you sat there staring at me, trying to know more.

B. E. Barnes, Curious kitty

The elevator bell chimed with a sharp twitter before the golden gates clanked opened to allow a small, tweedy man stride through. Hermione and Severus were sharp on his heels.

"Here you are, Department of Mysteries. Be sure to introduce yourself first, you may be recognizable to the public, but these witches and wizards hardly poke their head out of here long enough for the loo, let alone the tabloids."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione smiled at the man, whose nose seemed to twitch at her attention, "We're very grateful for your assistance. It would have hardly been manageable with our time frame to go the traditional route of getting an appointment with an Unspeakable".

The man snorted, twirling a small finger around his sparse goatee, "Hardly. At any rate, it is quite easily managed with two formidable reputations such as you and Professor Snape."

Snape grunted, arms folded. They had waited in the Ministry Customer Service line for all of thirty minutes before Granger had lost her patience and sent a patronus to the Assistant to the Assistant of the Minister, asking for a favor in the form of access to the Department of Mysteries library, and hopefully an Unspeakable with some time to spare.

Much to his disdain, it didn't take much convincing to aid a member of the Golden Trio, and before they could take their next step in the winding line to the front desk, the short man before them had come scrambling out of one of the elevators before ushering them back inside of it. Granger had seemed outright pleased with the efficiency, however Severus found himself irritated with the tiny man, eager to please and offering help he did not ask for. He hated help. It was too close to pity. People always seemed to press it on him; Poppy, Minerva, Lucius… Hermione. He found that her help was the most tolerable for the time being. By familiarity he should feel mild mannered towards the man, Hector Humblebee, if he remembered correctly through the fog of irritation that came over him during their elevator ride. Severus knew he was supposed to enjoy the shortcuts of life, and his resources, it would be the Slytherin attitude to assume, however he just could not find himself at ease when he was not the one pulling the weight. Maybe it was the Northern boy in him, forced to do everything the hard way, or the Death Eater turned spy constantly undermined. Whatever the case his ability to be gratuitous towards help was at best limited.

Regardless, he was where he needed to be when he needed to be there, with the person he needed to complete the task, so he might as well dispose of Mister Humblebee in a timely manner and get on with things. He should be mad at Granger, if anything, since she was the one who got help, and Humblebee was merely providing. Unfortunately he just could not bring himself to transfer his irritation from the sniveling small man to the woman smiling down at him.

"Thank you for your assistance. It was most efficient," Severus said evenly.

"Wha- Oh! You're most welcome Professor Snape! It would be a disservice to the Ministry not to accommodate those we are in debt to. Of course, anything Miss Granger needs she must only send that lovely otter Patronus over to Level 1 and I will be sure to take care of things." The man grinned earnestly over to Hermione, who nodded and smiled again, ever the charming guest.

"Indeed," Severus responded, every twitch of the Humblebee's mousy nose and slow blink of his watery eyes grating on the last string of patience he reserved for the general public. "Best not waste such generosity by idle chatter, then. Good day to you." He slid a firm hand between his apprentice's shoulder blades and swiveled around, coaxing Hermione with him. "Granger, with me." He ordered, before guiding them both down the corridor to the huge sweeping entrance to the Department of Mysteries.

"Have a nice day!" Hermione called over her shoulder, hoping it reached the man left at the elevator. She didn't bother to listen for a reply. She was entirely to focused on her annoyance with Professor Snape, and the flat of his palm burning a hole into her back.

"You don't need to be so pushy!" She glanced up at his profile, cutting a dark and dominating presence under the Ministry lights. "He was being helpful, and I'd like to secure help in the future if you don't mind!". Snape gritted his teeth, and a nerve under his eye jumped.

"I dislike the attention," He said, "I dislike the people who work here and help always means something owed."

"Untrue. Maybe if it was someone of real importance, like the Minister. That man was already repaid by his interest in helping us."

Severus rolled his eyes, a fine line of his brow arching, "Oh yes, I'm certain that assisting a member of the Golden Trio was more than enough of a prize."

Hermione blushed, "Perhaps. It's worked before."

"Oh I'm sure it has." Severus bore down on her, "Who knew a Gryffindor would sooner manipulate her standing with the Ministry over a Slytherin." A smirk affixed his strong features. Let her think I'm irritated with her. Maybe next time she'll leave me to do things my way. He already knew his line of thought was doubtful, since Hermione was as opinionated as him in most things. Yet, he was still cutting a more formidable figure of the two.

"Well, It's gotten us this far! I'm trying to be useful!" Hermione retorted.

Severus kept his long fingers splayed on her back, feeling her heartbeat increase, the rise and fall of her breathing growing harsher. They arrived at the door the Department of Mysteries. He sighed, reaching up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck tiredly. He could feel the tension in her body and it was putting him off. "I never said you weren't being useful, only that I disliked it for the potential cost."

She maintained her stance, regarding his pale face. She didn't really care either way, let him be angry with her. She had saved them hours of extra time they could be spending researching. Although, he didn't really look angry, did he? Irritated in the presence of Humblebee, but he was gone now. All that was left of his leftover petty attitude had been spent on her. He looked tired, like he'd lost sleep.

Swallowing her pride, she studied her fingernails. They were standing still at the foot of the great entrance, his hand still on her back, his complaints falling silent. This was stupid, he wasn't a people person and he'd have to excuse her resourcefulness if it really did bother him. If he didn't want to let her help him he'd still be in line ten stories down.

Hermione looked over at him once more, surprised to find her own face already being studied by his dark eyes. His appearance was certainly unorthodox, but the intensity with which he seemed to be regarding her made him look positively Grecian. Or perhaps Roman. His height coupled with his high cheekbones and strong nose was to some people most likely too edgy to be desired. He could belong in a museum, encased in marble or in oil paint on canvas. She found it interesting at first, and easy to remember. Lately she felt that interest growing beyond something as basic as fascination.

"I'm sorry." She blurted, wanting to break the silence that was swallowing up her comfort in great gulps, and ease the look he was giving her.

His brow creased further, instead of relaxing like she expected. She felt his hand tighten around her spine, and for a split second she leaned into his touch, wanting him to piece together whatever it was he was thinking as his eyes continued to wander her face.

What Hermione did not know Severus was piecing together at the moment was just how much their dynamic had begun to shift.

Dilated pupils. Increased breathing and heart rate. Response to physical touch. Submission for no reason other than to smooth over the minor conflict.

All the signs of a witch infatuated was there. Of course, he could be reading into it, but he always jumped to the worst conclusion and he knew it. It didn't mean he could prevent the scenarios he created from running calculated circles around his brain.

It didn't mean that the breathy whispers pouring out of her porcelain mouth from his dream the night before didn't resurface and cause his arms to break out in gooseflesh.

He knew he was staring at her, probably with some furrowed expression that was no doubt the cause of the growing anxiety in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." Her voice reverberated in his ear drum.

"I just want to help you with the spell incantation in any way I can. I want you to teach me."

Teach me. Teach me.

If only she knew how different a weight those words carried in that moment to his sleep deprived and overthinking brain. He'd spent the whole night stuffing that train of thought deep down to his subconscious, getting a head start on the project without her in hopes of chasing away the blooming need for whatever it was she was insinuating between them to present itself.

His hand tightened its grasp on her delicate spine, resisting the temptation to trap her against the wall and demand what she was playing at.

She leaned into him. leaned.

Yes, the signs of infatuation were there. She was almost challenging him with her cinnamon eyes. Figure me out. Tell me why this is happening.

He wished he could ask her bluntly, but he knew her type well enough that she'd deny anything that wasn't presented with a degree of subtlety and persuasion.

The whizzing gears in his head finally snapped into place. With a dexterous hand, he produced his wand from the folds of his robes and silently casted a knocking charm. It bore down on the door unexpectedly heavy handed, but it distracted Granger enough to turn away from him, providing him a spare second to shake himself out of the state of distraction he'd worked himself into. Severus was no fool, he'd figure out what exactly was floating through her sharp little mind. Whether he would crush it or allow it to fester remained to be seen. But like a hound to a blood trail, he was intent on sniffing the situation out thoroughly, before pulling apart the drive behind what made her eyes darken under his scrutiny, and her mouth slack under his hand.

If you planned on crushing this, you'd do it now, you miserable fool. His inner dialogue snickered. Been too long since you've visited the pub and bought a whore a drink? He firmly shut the door on that dialogue as the door to the Department of Mysteries cracked open. He wasn't desperate for something as base as a decent lay. He was going to figure this out, if only to put his own stupid dreams to rest, and get some deserved sleep.

"Severus Snape. Hermione Granger. How may I assist such erudite individuals as yourselves?" A woman with lank hair and deep wrinkles emerged from beyond the heavy doors. Her eyes were so light they appeared milky, and her unblinking gaze caused a shiver to run down Hermione's back. Severus finally removed his hand, offering it to the otherworldly woman. She took it, and allowed him to formally, if not briefly, bow with her hand in his grasp.

"Madam Inari. It is a pleasure. We are in search of the Department's resources on the finer points of time travel." Severus explained. The level of respect in his voice was rare, his tone gentle and silvery.

A fragile smile broke across her creased, pale face, "Just so. I think I might help you along your endeavor over a pot of tea. They say a certain blend will stimulate the mind you know, and I think a direct answer might be what you're looking for, although the shelves are at your disposal." She beckoned them into the darkness beyond the doorway.

Severus lit his wand, expecting Hermione to do the same. She merely shuffled closer to him, practically clinging to his hem like a first year. Severus remembered her fifth year experience here, and it was only the sight of color leaking from her complexion that spared him from prompting her to get a grip and light her wand. Instead, he merely angled his body so that she could cower a bit easier, and pressed on behind the Unspeakable.

Greetings. I am back. I spent my year painting and getting into a swanky art school, but now I want to finish my story. Reviews and feedback are heavily desired. I'm not sure if I even like this chapter, or if it flows right, but I also want to get to the fun part of the story and don't want to go missing for another eight months.


	6. Cupid Screwed Up

_With one burning hand she held his and with the other she kept pushing him away.  
Leo Tolstoy_

Hermione thought that the dark steps to Professor Snape's potion lab were bad, but the passages of the Department of Mysteries were worse. Ten times more consuming than she remembered it in fifth year, eleven times more chilling than her dreams of fighting in the same hallways she walked now.

Her professor's traveling cloak was warm and wooly, however. And so she burrowed into his backside as he lit the way, following the ghostly woman through the darkness to her study.

He had a figure like stretched taffy, and looked like a looming willow against the dim glow of his wand. The amount of heat radiating off of him provided an enormous comfort to Hermione, whose fingers were going numb from cold. Her cloak was much thinner than her professor's, and so she figured he wouldn't mind terribly if she stood closer than normal to him to collect his excess warmth. He hadn't pushed her away from him yet, and she was finally beginning to feel the tips of her fingers again.

* * *

Severus was not minding terribly _at all._ In fact, the lack of space between him and his apprentice and the overwhelming scent of lavender and parchment ink was making it difficult for him to focus on crafting his future conversation with Madame Inari, and _not_ his future conversations with a certain Miss Granger.

He felt her shiver behind him and press closer to his woolen cloak as something creaked in the dark stone hallway they travelled on.

"I apologize for your inconveniences in the dark. I'm afraid my eyes are as sensitive to light as ever, and I'd much prefer to take another dose of my potions before I light any fires." Madame Inare spoke over her shoulder, gracefully navigating the floors as if there was ambient sun pouring in.

" _Lumos_ will serve us perfectly well, thank you." Snape replied, although he could practically hear Granger's mental scream of " _Easy for you to say!"._ The Unspeakable's office was not far off, though. It would not kill his apprentice to tuck herself behind her Master's cloak and his wand for a few feet.

Contrary to popular belief, Severus Snape did not despise human contact as much as the public may believe. He may recoil from the touch of many, and sneer at handshakes and hugs in between, but coming from a small population of people in his life, physical touch was not entirely unwelcome.

It could be considered selfish to put his hand on his apprentice's back, or assist her from her seat, or allow her to stay close to his side in darkness, yet he found her presence so comfortable at times, so amiable, that he found himself guiding her nearer to him in multiple situations. Was it selfish? If she reacted so delightfully to it, how could it be?

 _If you enjoy her presence so much, why must you deny more?_

His heart cackled as his mind jerked away from the thought as if burned. His body jerked as well, causing Hermione to trip on his billowing robes, and steady herself with a small hand on his arm. Severus ignored her fumblings, and pressed on to the end of the hallway. They arrived at a set of dark cherry wood doors. With a gentle caress of Madame Inari's aged hands, the doors parted silently and she entered. The pair of potioneers followed suit, and beyond the tip of Severus's lit wand, the old woman crossed her study to retrieve a sea green glass bottle from the drawer of a large cabinet and drink a dose of its contents.

"Much better." She said, dabbing a dribble of the potion delicately off her thin lips. She flicked a pale arm towards her hearth and whispered _Incendio_ , bringing forth a roaring fire and covering the room in golden light. Turning to the two, her eyes resembling passably normal, pale blue with a faint pupil peeking beyond the greatly reduced cloudy whiteness covering them, she smiled warmly. "Is herbal tea alright? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

While Hermione agreed that herbal was perfect, Severus inquired into the possibility of an Earl Grey, his lack of caffeine in the past several hours and his minimal sleep did not make well for conducting research.

Madam Inari breezily fixed the tea, assembling it onto a tea tray as Severus and Hermione sat themselves in the chairs across her desk. Hermione politely folded her hands in her lap, Severus tapped his fingers on the edge of the leather chair, mentally gathering his questions for the Unspeakable.

The tea was served, a pad of paper and a quill drawn out from Hermione's bottomless pouch of items, and Severus took a long sip from his cup before fixing his gaze on the woman with the answers he needed.

"What can I do for you, Severus Snape?" Madam Inari asked, drinking her tea and regarding him in quiet contemplation as she waited on the slew of questions to begin.

"Madam, we are in the midst of a complicated brew. The client wishes to create a time loop, forged through a custom potion and incantation. He'd paid for research and formulation in the past, however brought the request to me in hopes of producing what his past potioneers failed to." Snape paused, regarding the woman and anticipating her response. Unspeakables were generally the most liberal and eccentric of the Ministry, however they still worked for the Ministry, and therefore her reaction to revealing a potentially dark potion and spell outside of government regulation was a risk in of itself.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, "Which was…?"

Severus smirked. "A result. The potion from the past was clumsily composed. The elements cooperate, but not seamlessly. I… as well as my apprentice," he added compulsively, "have sorted that portion of the task. The real trouble is the incantation. Miss Granger has some, if limited, experience with time travel. I have none. After her enlightenment on the pillars of time travel, it has occured to me that the spell may not be as complex as is needed. I, _We,_ require your help to proceed in a way that is a step forward, not backward."

"Interesting. And to what end is this potion being used?" She replied. Her almond eyes moved from Severus to Hermione.

Hermione swallowed nervously, before scribbling something fervently on her paper. She was keeping a close record of the dialogue as well as the information the Unspeakable had yet to release. Her stomach twisted in knots. With the way the conversation was turning she doubted that the elderly witch would take the risk of assisting with something potentially dangerous in the wrong hands. She sincerely hoped that Professor Snape had retained his Slytherin attributes. A silvertongue was sorely needed at the moment.

Severus pursed his lips thoughtfully. If this conversation went sour, there was always the Hogwarts library, and a few colleagues to write to abroad. It would be much more time consuming however, and the Ministry would no doubt investigate his practice. How did he manage to always toe the wrong side of the law? He found himself quietly switching the mechanics of his mind into high gear to sway the Unspeakable.

"I've done an extensive background check on my client, his record is impeccable. He was somewhat vague and bashful during our meeting. He expressed an interest in obtaining it purely for intellectual, personal reasons. No doubt he may try to rebrand it as his own creation and resell it for an obscene amount of money. I'll be sure to patent it once I finalize the complete product." Severus lied smoothly. The Unspeakable considered his response, nodding thoughtfully into her teacup.

"And his name?"

Severus hesitated, "I do not make it a habit to expose my clients to others. Privacy is one of my largest allures for attracting individuals to my establishment."

"Oh come now," She smiled gently, "you are no fool. You understand that the information I am able to provide is invaluable. A potion created with my help with the potential damage I can foresee would be detrimental to my career, not to mention the risk it could impose on the public." She set her cup in its saucer, smoothing her fingers across her desk. "I'm afraid I require the name in order to help you."

He grit his teeth, and drummed his fingers lightly on the leather chair. His word was not enough, however if all she needed was the name, she was more easily swayed than he believed.

"He goes by Patrick Simmons, however since there are two registered in wizarding Britain, his full name is Patrick Aeron Simmons." He said, satisfied that she sat back in her chair. She was in.

From the holster around her waist, she withdrew a strangely long, white wooden wand.

" _Expecto Patronum,"_ She crooned, a tiny butterfly fluttering from the blue cast of the spell.

"I require the Ministry file for Patrick Aeron Simmons," She said fondly to her Patronus. It fluttered out the door, into the dark hallway.

Hermione felt sick. He had lied! It wasn't as if she wasn't such a complete goody goody that she was opposed to lying, however it just didn't seem worth it. Yes, they needed the money, but was wealth really worth sacrificing the integrity of her Professor? She didn't think so.

In a matter of moments the hearth flames roared green, and a manila folder gusted in from another department and settled itself calmly in front of Madam Inari. She opened it, and leafed through Mr. Simmons' records briefly.

"Your suspicions seem to be worth merit. Not a stitch out of place with this man, every charm under the belt of the law."

"Just so," Snape responded smoothly. "May we proceed?"

She closed the file, and Hermione assumed a tighter grip on her quill. Severus merely crossed a leg across his lap, appearing to have all the time in the world.

"What is the exact function of your current incantation?" She asked. Hermione exhaled softly, returning to hide behind her notes. Professor Snape's skill in negotiation was putting her rapidly at ease. It was nice to not feel like the single handed brains behind a heist, if you could call this situation that.

"My current version creates the loop, however it is structured to skip like record needle, the same day resetting eternally. I am uncertain if I have an anchor to tether the victim, forgive my verbiage, between their original timeline and the loop I have engineered. I am also uncertain if I even need an anchor, since this version was not specifically set up with the ability for consequences to build upon themselves. There is no Butterfly Effect, to my knowledge."

Madam Inari nodded, "Well, you're certainly on the right track. The incantation you seek is a little more delicate than what you have currently. Lucky for you, it's already been created."

Hermione's mouth fell open. It felt too good to be true! They could start the final potion tonight, and begin testing tomorrow. The whole messy ordeal would be out of their hair before next week!

"And which incantation is that?" Severus asked, trepidation already coloring his response. Hermione groaned inwardly. Trust her Master to not trust an Unspeakable. A Time Specialist at that! No doubt he'd very politely take note of the spell before tossing out the window when they arrived back home. He was a firm believer in self discovery over premade spells and potions. " _Everything can be improved upon."_

"The spell is known as _Volvenda Dias_ , or 'time flowing in a circle'", Madame Inari said, "On its own, it recreates something a shade darker than deja vu. The recipient would experience repeating events in day to day life, until their life seemed to be relieved over and over. Quite maddening. Never outlawed by the Ministry, since it is classified as a "Dead Spell". The Ministry does not bother running spells recovered from dead civilizations through the legal checklist since they fall in the hands of Unspeakables or Aurors, and then are filed away out of the reach of most people." She stood up, "Although you may not leave with the entire tome it is referenced in, you may copy it either by hand or magically. I won't be but a moment to retrieve it." She exited the study the way they came, and Severus and Hermione were left to their own devices for a moment.

"This is nuts," Hermione laughed shakily, "Not only did we get the spell handed to us, but there is a whole world of books out there of old spells!"

"Indeed," Severus hummed, resuming his tapping of his chair. "I trust you aren't getting your hopes up about seeing any of these old spells?"

Hermione frowned, "Well, I suppose. Of course I currently would be unable to view them, but who's to say in ten years I won't be granted access?"

"Planning on started a career in the Department of Mysteries, Miss Granger?" Professor Snape drawled. The fire was casting a halo of golden frizz to appear around his apprentice's heart shaped face. He was only half paying attention to her wishful thinking, as he was already busy organizing his somewhat half baked thoughts about their current standing.

Hermione tucked a curl behind her ear. Severus watched that same curl spring right back in front of her face, brushing across her bottom lip. He looked away into the flame of the fireplace.

"Well, I'd like to get my apprenticeship through with, and hopefully secure a job in Potions before I'd consider starting into something that serious." She answered honestly.

"Interesting. I'd thought by your trembling behind my right flank on the journey here that becoming an Unspeakable would be the last job on your mind." He retorted.

A faint blush bloomed over Hermione's face, spreading down her neck, all the way into the collar of her shirt. "Sorry. I don't know what came over me. I guess I just like feeling safe. It's not been too long since I was here fighting off Death Eaters. I'm… I'm working on it." She squared her chin, and looked him in the eye. "Some people can only be brave during the fight, not after. We can't all be made of stronger stuff like you."

Her words brought him to a halt. "Like me?" He asked, clearing his throat quickly when his voice cracked. The struggle to tune out his troubling thoughts towards his apprentice quickly broke free of their restraints, dancing merrily about his mind as he scrambled to say something snappy. It had been a long while since someone had taken him by surprise the way Granger seemed to be doing of late.

"No one takes a bite from a snake from hell, crawls his way back from death, and then immediately agrees to take on a full time apprentice. Except you, it would seem." She replied, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth. She was worried she was being too open with him. She was used to being berated by him, she knew his insults were empty nowadays. She just didn't want to get in too deep and be pushed away by him. The layers beneath his surface she was beginning to uncover were so much more alluring than she'd thought.

"I don't recall agreeing so much as having no choice," He said, not bitterly. His voice was slightly faint, he was staring at her as if he'd never looked closely enough at her until now. He looked like he saw something he liked. He looked like the chance that that could be true unnerved him.

She opened her mouth to say something more, then quickly jammed it shut when Madam Iniri came floating back in, carrying a leather bound tome in between her spidery arms.

"Here you are," She said, setting it gently in Hermione's lap, "page 52 has the spell, and the wand movements, as well as a list of ingredients and elements it's adverse to. Make sure to filter out those ingredients from the potion before introducing the spell."

Hermione looked at Madam Iniri in nervous excitement, before craning her head to Professor Snape to silently plead what to do next. He was staring at Madam Iniri, his pupils faintly dilated, the drumming of his fingers on the chair faster than ever. He looked ahead without seeing, consumed in some thought or intense mental conversation he was having.

"Professor Snape, what shall I do?" She said softly, reaching out and gently prodding his elbow with her finger. The contact made her chest flutter, for some odd reason. His eyes slowly latched onto hers, and she felt like she was being set on fire for the intensity raging in his dark ebony eyes seemed to suck her in.

"What do you think, Miss Granger?" He smirked, challenging her. Obviously she knew what to do, the realization came crashing down on her. She quickly copied the text and thanked Madam Inari for her time. She quickly stood up, offering her hand to the elderly witch. She was eager to leave. She wanted to start the final potion, and spare herself any more stupid moments in front of the Unspeakable at the hand of her Professor.

The Unspeakable took her hand, gently shaking it. "I don't doubt he will take care of you, Hermione Granger. You are pure of heart. He won't drag you away from that." She said, smiling softly. Her milky eyes twinkled with a secret. Hermione could only assume she was talking about her Professor, although the details of what she meant were lost on her. She turned to him to find he was watching their interaction closely.

 _When had all my dealings with him suddenly become so layered and confusing?_

He bowed with her hand in his, the same as when they had entered, thanking her for her time. He then wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulder and barrelled through the dark hallway, not giving her time to for her mind to catch up with her feet. Once out the other side, he released her quickly, stepping away and starting for the elevator.

Hermione scrambled to keep up, lightly jogging to meet him at the elevator door just as he punched the button for the entry level floor.

"Hey!" She squeaked, "Wait!"

The elevator dinged and slid open. Professor Snape stalked in before rounding on his apprentice.

"It does not do to dawdle, Miss Granger." He sneered, crossing his arms and leaning back on the metal wall.

"I'm not," She said, out of breath, "I'm trying to keep up! You walk like your trying to escape me."

As a matter of fact, Severus was. He was striding to the elevator as if he could leave her to catch a second one downstairs. Their conversation in the Department of Mysteries had finally undone the strings of composure that had been slowly picked at by her innocent conversation and heady nature. At the moment, he couldn't decide what he wanted to do more; recoil away and protect himself on the off chance that he was wrong about her, or press her further and discover just how far down that little blush that was so fond of appearing on her pale skin went.

 _Foolish desires. She pities people. Her house elf campaign should've told you enough about that._

She was his former student. His apprentice under his absolute trust and guidance. It seemed like torture to try to get closer on emotional level.

It didn't apparently matter, as she was worming her way near regardless.

A small hand appeared on his forearm, crossed stubbornly across his broad chest. His gaze focused on her once more.

"I know why you're upset." She said carefully, biting her lip. Surely he was not so obvious? Could she have discovered him so easily? He bowed his head, eyes narrowed.

"It's because you lied. Don't turn away like it isn't true! You didn't have to do that. I just- I worry. I'm worried that you're letting something dark back in to your life when you sacrifice moral judgment for someone you barely know." She moved back into his view as he turned away, rolling his eyes.

"Listen to me! This is probably to personal for us, I know. I'm- I'm sorry." She took a trembling breath. "I watched you place yourself in situations and relationships with people that made you do things you wouldn't have done otherwise. It might be habit that you're doing this now. It might not. I don't know, sir. It just didn't sit right that you chose to lie for some stupid customer!" Her honey eyes blazed bright, and he watched the pale column of her throat bob as she swallowed heavily.

Her words pierced him. A little too fiercely, he wished it was appropriate to invade her personal space, inhale her floral inky scent, and press her for more of her sweet words. People cared about him. Poppy patched him up after meetings with Voldemort. Minerva gave sage wisdom and a decent glass of firewhisky after his reports to Dumbledore. But neither of them, or anyone else in his life, had ever worried about how his actions may affect _him._ It was only ever how it would affect Potter, or the war, or something else that required his devotion.

He needed time. He needed to reflect on this newfound… allure. Hermione Granger was proving to be a distraction. He needed to put space between himself and the young witch currently gripping his sleeve tightly.

"Pure of heart indeed, Granger." He hissed, "Your concern is touching, truly. I didn't realize that when I took a blood oath apprenticeship I would gain a guidance counselor as well!" He watched with part cold satisfaction, part panic as she quickly stepped back, an expression of hurt briefly flitting across her face. She shrouded into herself like a bluebell frosting over at the start of fall, withering at the cross look on Professor Snape's face.

"I am not absolved from amoral action just because my sins are behind me." He said, stalking to the other side of the elevator she had backed into. Selfishly, he inhaled, lavender caressing his sinuses. He ignored a small twang of his heart as he delivered his harsh words. "Despite my charity towards your fumbling attempts of assistance in my endeavors, you seem to forget yourself. I am a grown man, I don't need coddling like a child! I knew she had the spell we seeked. If I wanted a bit of information, I'd sent you on your merry way to search the Hogwarts library. No doubt you're so eager to impress you'd tear the shelves apart for hours and give me some peace of mind!"

The tiniest tear trickled out of Hermione's eye as the elevator doors slid open with a soft click. Severus ceased his tirade. He had intended to put her off his scent for a while, not reduce her to tears. Feeling somewhat embarrassed he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, resisting the urge to dry it himself.

"Dry your tears, you foolish girl. In the future, do not judge my actions so easily." He said, meaning it sound vicious, but ultimately sounding like he pitied her for her emotions.

She clutched his handkerchief, quickly drying her eyes, then drying them again as a new round of tears welled in her eyes.

It seemed cupid was playing a cruel joke on her, or perhaps had fired his arrow to early. Severus Snape clearly had zero desire to let her into his heart, or even let her care about him. It was plain to her that feelings had sprouted where she least expected like a weed, and then left her to deal with the consequence. For now, since she was bound in contract to the surly object of her affection, she simply had to endure the pain of unrequited love.

 **Hello again :) Thank you so so so much for your lovely reviews! It made this chapter come extra quick. Do you find that changes in perspective are easier to read with page breaks? Is my story confusing without them? Please let me know. I always associate them with a sudden change in scene, but many other fics use it to jump around to different characters. I would appreciate opinions from you guys!**


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